Toxic Bandwidth: Third Verse

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Suggested Audio Candy

 

[1] 45 Grave “Party Time”

[2] John 5 & Griffin Boice “The Lords Theme”

 

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Tonight was prom night; the most important evening of any self-respecting senior’s scholarship. Stephen Cooper certainly wouldn’t be in attendance, although it would take paramedics a week to identify his body judging by the way it had literally exploded on Lesley’s front lawn. He could still hear his neighbors screaming as he vacated the block and set off for Charlie’s house. Back when they were younger, Lesley had been a regular there and the pair were inseparable before his buddy’s popularity soared. Now, Charlie made his life a living misery for shits and grins and Lesley planned to return the favor in kind by paying him a visit with his transistor radio and leveling the playing field out some.

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Charlie’s abode was commonly regarded as an open house of sorts and his parent’s allowed his friends to pretty much come and go as they pleased; this gave Lesley the opportunity to make it past the sentries unnoticed and he still remembered the floor plan, thus made his way straight to Charlie’s room with minimal fuss. As he arrived at the door, Lesley overheard a conversation coming from the other side and quickly deduced that it was Dale. He was nursing his black eye and describing to his friend the planned manner of his swift retribution. Lesley decided to listen in for a moment as he geared himself up for the next phase of his retribution.

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“I’m gonna kick the fucking shit out of him” Dale stated furiously, fully aware that his reputation had received a hefty blow in front of his entire graduating class. “Your eye’s fucked dude. You look like Admiral Ackbar” Charlie joked, much to Dale’s displeasure. “By the time I’m finished with that cretin, he’ll look like Rocky Dennis” Dale revealed, teeth grinding in anticipation. Charlie continued ribbing “yeah you can’t let him beat you again” to which Dale took great umbrage. “Fuck you. He got lucky. I’m gonna mess him up so bad. Anyway, you’ve got nothing to be chipper about, you two used to be best pals. How did that feel, holding hands with vagina basket and sharing apples?” There was no way that Charlie was going to lose the upper hand on this occasion “That was years ago son. You just got your ass kicked like an hour ago. Picture the scene tonight. You think Maggie Cullen is actually gonna want her picture taken with you now looking like that?”

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“He’s so dead. I’m actually going to kill him” Dale announced, attempting to hold onto his last thread of dignity. “Well you’d better be quick. We’re getting picked up in two hours” Charlie reminded him. “Well, what we waiting for then? You know where he lives, take me there. Time to even the score” said Dale. Lesley continued to listen in as the pair began to get their act together. Charlie’s parents were not present but he could hear his twin sister Trudy lathering down in the bathroom as she prepared for the big night. Lesley had always had a thing for Trudy; despite sharing the same gene pool as her sibling, she was far easier on the eye and he contemplated a quick peek as he knew full well they had no lock on the bathroom door. However, he promptly thought better of it as he discerned both boys were primed for departure and the window of opportunity was slight. He gathered any forward momentum and reminded himself that he was the one holding the motherfucking radio. Fuck Charlie for selling him out and fuck Dale for…well…being Dale.

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One of Lesley’s favorite movies was Predator so he decided to make an entrance with his gargantuan size eleven just like Dutch would; kicking the door straight off its hinges and into the advancing Dale’s one remaining good eye. As he hit the floor clutching his face, Charlie could do little more than stand comatose; soundly bamboozled by the sudden forced entry. “Hi Chas” Lesley used to call him that, back when social standing didn’t matter. Finally Charlie managed to break free from his temporary paralysis. “You don’t EVER call me that” he spat fiercely. “What’s wrong Chas? I thought we were buddies. Weren’t we buddies? I could’ve sworn we were Chas.” Charlie formed a fist and Lesley decided to seize the initiative before any subsequent attack. He flicked the switch and the radio sprang back into life, already tuned directly to 66.6. It took a couple of moments for that deathly hum to reconvene and, the very second it did, both Dale’s swollen eye sockets excavated in a sickening spray of optical fluids and brain matter.

 

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Meanwhile, Charlie wasn’t faring much better as his rib cage concaved to such a degree that the heart burst within his chest. Lesley couldn’t resist cranking the volume a little higher out of sick amusement although he grabbed Charlie’s duvet cover as a splash sheet as he knew things were about to get very messy indeed. Good call on the duvet as both boys first imploded, then exploded, leaving his room resembling a condemned slaughterhouse. This radio was some gnarled piece of equipment; uncle Clive was bang on the money when announcing it would “get ya out of a fix.” Three of his five antagonists had fallen foul of his filthy frequency and that just left two: Billy ‘Bulldozer’ Botherton-McGee and ringleader Daryl Fellini. Lesley had been on the receiving end of one of Billy’s legendary flurries before and had a chipped tooth as constant reminder of their one-sided skirmish. As for Fellini, he was nothing without his henchmen and Lesley fancied himself in a one-on-one and relished the chance of finally getting even for all the cruelty he had commissioned over the past five years.

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As he was exiting, the bathroom door swung open in the hallway behind him and there stood a bemused Trudy, sopping wet and wrapped in a bath towel hardly large enough to wash your face with. Lesley was torn; on one hand, Trudy looked absolutely stunning glistening under the light with one of her breasts peeking out from the side of her linen. On the other, she had just become privy to the redecoration of her brother’s room and wasn’t best pleased with the color choice. “What have you done?” she cried and Lesley was pressurized into a hasty response. With a conflicted flick of the switch, the air waves became filled with that merciless audio and Lesley’s curiosity was finally quenched as she dropped her towel to her pedicured feet and he copped an appreciative eyeful of her wares.

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Before he could focus his mental snapshot, she burst like a plump piƱata and this time there was no splash sheet to save him from a downright dousing. He turned away in disgust and wracked with guilt as it had not been his intention to spoil Trudy’s prom night too. It was spoiled now, fucked beyond all comprehension more like, and Lesley decided to remember her the way he had seen her last rather than poke around her spilled giblets. As he stepped away from the scene, he slipped on Trudy’s large intestine and desperately fumbled the radio as he steadied himself against the wall. That was close; if he lost that then his warpath would be cut short and he wouldn’t be satisfied until Billy and especially Daryl had paid for their harsh treatment earlier. It was a shame about Trudy but he considered that, in order to make an omelet, a few eggs would invariably need to be broken. It was a simple case of wrong place, wrong time. Besides, she looked more than vaguely similar to her sibling and, in Lesley’s book, that meant death by association.

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What would he do about the blood though? If he wasn’t already conspicuous painted from head-to-toe in entrails, then the fact that local constabulary were likely sweeping Stephen Cooper’s remains into the nearest drain at that very moment just blocks away, made a change of outfit imperative. He spun around on the top step and returned to Charlie’s room where his unnecessitated rental tuxedo hung tidily in the closet. Lesley figured that his “friend” would no longer be needing it and, to his distinct pleasure, it was a perfect fit. It was funny, until now he had hadn’t the faintest interest in visiting prom and was happy to give it the widest available berth. Now, the prospect of rubbing shoulders with his associates had taken on an altogether different meaning. Carrie White had shown Lesley exactly how to turn the tables on your aggressors and he too had now gotten a taste of power which was too delicious to deny. Prom night at Adler Academy was promising to offer one hell of a party.

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Click here to read Final Verse

 

 

Truly, Clearly, Really, Sincerely,

 

Keeper of the Crimson Quill

Copyright: Crimson Quill: Savage Vault Enterprises 2014

 

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